Ash’s eyes cracked open reluctantly, then snapped shut again as the light from the afternoon sun poured into the room. He rolled over on his side, bones aching, trying to escape the day back into the dark comfort of sleep, only to plant his face in a pool of rapidly cooling drool that stunk of spit and booze tinged with blood.

Another night with Old Star gin, he thought, as he pulled himself to the edge of the bed and sat up. He gingerly set his filthy feet on the floor between an armada of Old Star gin bottles and wondered how much longer he could live like this.

Not long, a voice said to him. Not long.

What voice? Ash didn’t know or care. Hey, his hour had not come—yet. So sayeth the Lord and thanks be to God. In the meantime, he would drink and drink he did.

He eyed the trail of empty glass gin bottles that littered his tiny apartment’s floor and decided that he could make it to the toilet without doing himself serious injury. He unwillingly stood and shuffled his feet across the dirty, worn-down, faded carpet until he hit the cracked and stained tiles of the bathroom, where he stopped and closed his eyes.

No sound of the shattering of one of the many glass bottles strewn over the floor like a minefield, no searing pain from a shard tearing into his foot, no bright jet of blood from a sliced vein shooting across the floor to join the other stains there. The first success of the day.

On countless mornings, he had stumbled his way to the bathroom to find blood splattered all over the floor, rotting food in the bathtub, the toilet stuffed with paper and overflowing, a dead dog, and other leftovers from his nights of blind drinking. At least he had never found a hooker or a prosti-bot. Not that he could afford a hooker or a prosti-bot. But still.

Each time, after a real whirlwind of self-destruction, he could almost count on his poor, abused bathroom to bear witness to the lost night. He still didn’t know where the hell the dog had come from.

His hand searched blindly for the light switch. Finding it, he flicked on the fluorescent lights while slowly opening his eyes. He carefully looked around the room. No blood on the floor or walls, the toilet appeared to be functional, and nothing in the tub. The second success of the day. He was on a roll.

He walked to the sink and twisted open the tap. A stream of brown water burped out of the pipe, followed by a strong organic smell that didn’t bear contemplating. After a good three minutes, the water finally cleared and the odor drifted away.

What the hell could be in the water to smell like that? Ash thought as he washed his face. He briefly considered a shower, but the water pressure was unreliable and, more often than not, the showerhead spit out only the rust-colored water that never cleared up. He had tried showering in that once. The water had made large burn marks on his shoulders and back, and left his skin cracked and peeling for weeks. Since he was on a winning streak, having not stepped on any glass and finding the bathroom in decent shape, he decided not to press his luck with the shower. He would, however, brush his teeth.

He reached for his tired and often neglected toothbrush and squeezed the last fraction of toothpaste onto the gray bristles. His gums, unfamiliar with daily brushing, bled profusely and burned as he rinsed his mouth with the water. Ash grimaced and waited for the burning to pass. At least his teeth would be clean for another day or two.

Having completed his limited hygienic routine for the day, Ash made his way back toward his bed, carefully pushing Old Star gin bottles out of the way. He grabbed his cleanest pants and shirt from the end of the bed, searched in vain for a clean pair of socks, and finally gave up, opting to pull his scuffed and scarred boots on his bare feet.

Ready to take on the world, he thought, as he reached for his identification and credit card. He did a quick check of the balance on his card: sixteen credits! Not enough for more of the Old Star gin, but more than enough for a night at the Stadium. He didn’t drink through his week’s pay last night, nothing dead or dying in the bathroom, and he had managed to brush his teeth! It was turning out to be a banner day.

Until he saw the old scavenger beaten to death by the Untouched Queen.

He headed out of his small apartment and into the crowded streets below. He’d go directly to the Stadium, get a little food in his belly and catch the midday chariot cycle races until his body was ready for all the painkilling numbness he could find in a bottle of Run beer.

Maybe there would be a circus tonight instead of the usual gladiator games. Ash could stomach the nonlethal fights of the amateur gladiators, but he’d have to punch out and find another way to keep his mind distracted while he killed his liver if they had the to-the-death professional fights, or worse, the Infant Wars.

But the crowds! What the hell was going on today?

People surged around Ash as he tried to make his way to the Stadium. He had to turn around and backtrack several times, with the throngs of people and blocked-off roads forcing him farther and farther away from the Stadium.

Well, this isn’t working, he thought, as he ran into another closed road. Someone important must be in town. Maybe some fat, overstuffed Roman official was coming from the Stadium on his way to see Herod. Or on his way to pay a visit to the King’s Harem, the forty-square-acre whorehouse renowned throughout the eastern Mediterranean for its endless selection of prostitutes, real and artificial, catering to any fetish, big and small. He should just go back to his apartment.

He had turned to do just that, when the crowd roared and began running down the street, dragging Ash along with them. Usually, Ash wouldn’t have bothered to fight the mass of people, and his hangover couldn’t bear the noise, but somehow he had found himself surrounded by a mob screaming that the Queen was coming! The Queen was coming!

So the Untouched Queen was here, Herod’s eternal bride and assumed virgin, waiting for the wise men of Judea to determine the most auspicious date for their wedding. Herod had declared to the public that he would wait for the blessings of God before he wed his Queen and would consummate their marriage only on that day.

Rumor had it that he would be waiting a long time. The Queen seemed to be in no hurry to wed Herod and seal the deal. The gossip rags hinted—very, very subtly—that she had the Pharisees Council under her thumb, and it would not find that most auspicious date anytime soon. If ever.

Until then, the Untouched Queen toured the realm, basking in the attention of the crowds, making occasional appearances at the Stadium, then parading back to the Virgin Palace. Everywhere she went, she created chaos, mayhem, and the promise of maiming or a painful death at the hands of her guards.

And it was hot. The kind of hot that only Judea in summertime seemed to offer. All the more reason to get back to his apartment. Let the madness that surrounded the Queen and her entourage evaporate in the unrelenting heat of the day. But those around him had other ideas as they elbowed and jabbed Ash repeatedly, nearly trampling him as he struggled to stay on his feet.

And with no conscious thought on his part, Ash found himself a mere foot from the front line of a human wall that shouted its adoration at the passing Queen. He tried to push back, to get away from the ruthless line of guards that protected the Queen, but the crowd surged again and pushed him to the front, in full view of the Queen.

The Queen strode through the roaring mass, secure and confident in her power over the people and the nation. The throngs pulsed closer, forcing her security detail to push and punch back. With her silver rod topped by a gold pommel, the Queen gestured over the crowd as though to bless them.

Ash struggled against the surging wave and watched a scavenger, one of the many people who made up the sea of human trash that lived on the outskirts of Jerusalem’s dumps, reach out to touch the hem of the Queen’s long green velvet train. He reached past the wall of armed guards and tugged at her velvet trail’s hem, then tried to withdraw, having secured his blessing for the day, but the crowd surged again, forcing the scavenger between the red-faced and shouting guards. The shocked man tumbled forward onto the Queen’s train, violently jerking her off balance. One of her aides reached for her arm to steady her, but before he could pull back, his hand brushed against her shockingly white skin.

The Queen’s eyes blazed a brilliant blue. Before the aide could profess his apologies and beg for mercy, her silver rod rose then descended in a sharp arc. Its gold pommel connected smartly with his skull, pushing the skin and bone deep into his under-brain and ending all of his thoughts immediately.

The crowd fell into a horrified hush. A man had touched the Queen! Not only by a royal aide but by a filthy scavenger as well! The Queen flicked her rod, sending bits of brain and bone into the crowd, and slowly wheeled her grace to look at the poor scavenger, pinned down by the many boots of her guards. The man had befouled the Queen, and only his blood would purify her.

The Queen took her staff in both hands, as though winding up to bat as they did in the New World, and raised it high in the air. The crowd gasped as the sunlight spilling into the vast open square radiated off the blood-spattered gold pommel, then sighed as the globe descended in a violent arc toward the scavenger’s forehead.

The man, seeing his holy death approaching, lifted his arms to the Queen in thanks, then died as the metal sphere pushed through his skull, ending his misery and cleansing him of his sin. Ash felt the warmth of the old man’s blood as it sprayed across his face. The crowd shrieked in adoration as flowers and palm branches rained down on the Queen and the bodies of the two men she had killed. The Queen calmly wiped the blood and flesh from her pommel, then strode up the steps of the Federal Palace and disappeared inside while members of her entourage quickly scooped up the aide’s body, leaving the scavenger as he lay.

The crowd cheered one last time and applauded, then slowly began to dissipate. The wall of people opened up behind Ash as they dispersed, and soon he stood alone with the man’s body. Sooner or later, the plaza custodians would get around to cleaning up the body, but not until many visitors to the capital had witnessed what happened when someone violated the Untouched Queen’s sanctity.

As he turned and headed toward the Stadium, Ash decided right there and then that he would not remember this day. He would go straight to the Stadium and completely drink away the image of the man’s head caving in. If he was really lucky, he might even forget the entire week. Nothing could be as ugly as seeing that man’s face filled with absolute joy as his forehead collapsed under the Queen’s righteous wrath. He would drink until his liver ruptured, his brain shut down, or his money ran out. He didn’t care which happened first. He didn’t care what ended up in his bathroom tomorrow morning.

As long as it wasn’t a dead dog.